


I'll Be Your Detonator

by CitrusVanille



Category: Hockey RPF, Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Sharing Clothes, Sharpy being Sharpy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 21:45:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16982376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: “Okay,” Patrick says slowly. “Okay. We can figure this out.” And it comes to him in a bolt of insanity, like all his best and worst ideas do, and he’s not sure if he should be impressed or horrified by his own brain, but he says, a little recklessly, “We can get married.”





	I'll Be Your Detonator

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I want to give a giant thank you to my lovely betas, amoergosum and Shelby - you guys are amazing!
> 
> Second, a shoutout to heidii19 for her amazing art - everyone should go check it out!
> 
> This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

It’s so late it’s almost early the night in mid-July that Jonny calls Patrick to tell him he’s fucked it up and Patrick needs to get back to Chicago immediately. To say Patrick’s first reaction is to ask what happened, and what he can do, would be flattering, but what actually happens is Patrick, still half-asleep, mumbles something mostly unintelligible but definitely rude into the phone and hangs up.

Half a second later, the phone rings again.

“The fuck?” Patrick demands, careful to enunciate this time, even going so far as to tilt his face completely out of his pillow, though he refuses to open his eyes.

“The fuck, the fuck?” Jonny snaps back. “I need you back in Chicago yesterday.”

“It still _is_ yesterday, asshole. I’m sleeping. And I haven’t done anything that would fuck everything up. I haven’t done anything at all, unless you count giving Erica’s new boyfriend the third degree – but he was being shifty. I’ve barely been out of the house since I got back.”

Jonny makes a noise that sounds like an angry hard drive. “I know you haven’t done shit,” he grits out. “ _I_ fucked it up, and I need you to come back to Chicago.”

That wakes Patrick up. “Wait. What?”

The noise Jonny makes this time is more rumbling rocks than chewed up metal, and Patrick would be interested to know how he’s making these sounds, but.

“ _You_ fucked up?” it maybe comes out more gleeful than it should, but payback’s a bitch. “What did you do?”

“Patrick, don’t,” Jonny says, and Patrick realizes abruptly how tense he sounds. “I don’t. I didn’t _do_ anything, it’s what I didn’t – I might not.” Jonny blows out a frustrated breath directly into Patrick’s ear. “I fucked up my visa and I might not be able to stay in Chicago,” he says, all in a rush.

Patrick stares blankly at his wall for several long seconds. “Well, shit,” he breathes.

“Will you – please, Patrick, will you come? I don’t know what to do.”

And it might be the please, or it might be the way Jonny sounds almost broken, but Patrick tells him, “Yeah, of course, man. I’ll be on the first flight out. Just hang tight, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

“Right. I. Right.” Jonny just breathes for a moment, then, “Thanks, Patrick.”

It’s not until Patrick is throwing things in a duffle bag, booked onto the 7am out of Buffalo, that he realizes Jonny was calling him ‘Patrick’ instead of ‘Kaner’ the whole time. “Well, shit,” he says again, then goes to put on pants so he can leave his house.

+

The flight’s easy – Patrick sleeps for most of it – but it’s the height of rush hour when he lands, and it takes well over an hour to get to Jonny’s.

There’s still no answer to any of the texts Patrick has sent since he landed, so he uses the key Jonny gave him – _for emergency purposes only, Kaner_ – to let himself in, figuring if ever a situation qualified as an emergency, this was one. He half expects to find Jonny shouting into his phone, but the condo is silent. He drops his things in the front hall, toeing off his shoes by the door, and goes searching.

It’s the work of less than a minute to find Jonny, asleep on his couch, cell on the carpet a few inches below his fingers, unread message notifications flashing angrily. He looks exhausted.

Patrick rolls his eyes, because of course the idiot wore himself out. He dumps a blanket over Jonny’s legs, tugs it a little to bring it up to his shoulders, and goes to beat Jonny’s horrible coffee machine into submission.

Either the noise the machine makes or the scent of coffee wafting through the condo wakes Jonny, and he comes stumbling into the kitchen as Patrick is pouring the first cup. He looks a little discombobulated, hair sticking up in several directions, clutching his phone in one hand and the blanket around his shoulders with the other.

“Kaner?” he blinks blearily at Patrick from the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“You gave me a key,” Patrick reminds him.

“Yes, but…”

“And you looked like you needed the sleep, anyway.”

“But why are you –” Jonny’s face rapidly goes through several expressions, and Patrick can pinpoint the moment when his sleep-deprived brain catches up with him, and everything falls into place.

Patrick holds out the mug of coffee he was planning on inhaling. “I think you need this more than I do,” he says.

Jonny takes a few shuffling steps forward, shoves his phone into his pocket without looking at it, and reaches out to take the mug. “Fuck,” he tells the hot liquid, and shuffles back out of the kitchen towards the living room.

“Fuck,” Patrick agrees to the empty kitchen, and makes himself another cup of coffee before following Jonny.

He finds Jonny back on the couch, sitting with his elbows on his knees, mug cradled between his palms. He still has the blanket draped across his back.

Patrick slumps into the armchair next to the couch, and sips his coffee carefully to avoid burning his mouth. “So,” he prompts, when several minutes have passed and Jonny hasn’t said anything or moved, even to drink.

“I was supposed to sign some paperwork,” Jonny finally says, voice heavy. “I _meant_ to sign it. I had it. I just. Playoffs. And then I just wanted to get away, and I went home to Winnipeg, and apparently I shouldn’t have left the country while the visa renewal was pending, and I just. I forgot. I didn’t think. And then I got the call, and now it’s a mess.”

Patrick gives it another minute, but nothing more is forthcoming. “Is there a plan?” he asks. “What happens now? Do you just get deported?”

“Don’t,” Jonny says, and it’s the same way he said it earlier, on the phone, tense and barely holding it together.

“It’s a valid concern,” Patrick points out, and he’s not trying to make a joke of it, but he also isn’t going to just roll over and die, and he’s not going to let Jonny, either. “Is that what happens? Or are there other plans in place?”

Jonny takes a gulp of his coffee, winces a little when he swallows and breathes out fast like it’s still too hot. “I don’t know how long I have,” he admits. “Management said they’d figure something out, but I don’t know how they can do anything fast enough for the start of the season. What if they trade me to a Canadian team? What if I can’t stay in the NHL at all?”

“Breathe,” Patrick tells him sharply, because he has never seen Jonny like this, and it’s freaking him out a little. “They can’t trade you, you idiot, you have a no-movement clause.”

“But what if they use this –”

“Shut up, fucker, let me think,” Patrick snaps, then takes several deep breaths himself. Jonny watches him, tense and unhappy, but not speaking.

“Okay,” Patrick says slowly. “Okay. We can figure this out.” And it comes to him in a bolt of insanity, like all his best and worst ideas do, and he’s not sure if he should be impressed or horrified by his own brain, but he says, a little recklessly, “We can get married.”

“We can. What.” Jonny blinks.

Patrick has a vague feeling he’s going to regret this, but he barrels on. “Remember how I told you I wanted to come out before the season started? Because may as well do it now, when I’m coming off an awesome season, and gearing up for another, right? And you did a really awesome impression of having been hit in the face with a two-by-four?” Patrick gestures at Jonny’s face, which is making a valiant effort at replicating the expression Patrick’s talking about. “Like that. Well. Why don’t we come out together, and get married?” Because Patrick has three younger sisters, okay, he has seen the movies, and marriage is always the solution to deportation. “If Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock can pull this shit off, we certainly can. At least we don’t hate each other.”

“What do Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock have to do with this?” And of course that’s what Jonny is taking away from this, not the fact that Patrick has basically just proposed to him.

“The Proposal,” Patrick tells him, barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “They decide to get married to keep Sandra Bullock’s character from being exiled back to the wastelands of Canada.”

“Canada is not a wasteland,” Jonny snaps automatically. Then, “Kaner, be serious.”

“I am being serious,” Patrick insists. “I have never in my life been _more_ serious.”

Jonny stares at him, dark and intense as ever, and Patrick wants to squirm a little, but he also thinks he’s right.

“Look, you don’t trust management, and _I_ don’t trust management, and this is what I’ve got for ideas. So unless you have something better –”

“No one will buy it,” Jonny interrupts. “Especially given… Everything.”

Patrick huffs. “They’ll buy it because they’ll _want_ to buy it,” he says with more confidence than he feels. “They don’t _want_ to lose you, even if you are an asshole.”

Jonny scowls, but doesn’t refute it. “Won’t they think it’s all a little too pat? My visa expires and all of a sudden we’re getting gay-married?”

“First off, fuck you,” Patrick tells him. “You can just call it getting married, you don’t have to be a dick about it. And second, management already knows I’m gay. I sent my statement to Brisson about a week after we – back in April. We’ve been figuring stuff out since then – the best way to release it, timing, who I should talk to, all that.”

“Well, they don’t know _I_ ’m gay,” Jonny points out, makes a face at the way it came out, says, “Which I’m not. Not the point. The point _is_ –”

“The _point_ ,” Patrick cuts him off, “is that you want to play hockey, and you were an idiot. But not a single person in this organization wants to lose you, oh Captain, my Captain, so we will give them a way to prevent that, and they can damn well deal with it.”

Jonny’s still looking a little extra crazy around the eyes, but, if nothing else, the conversation has distracted him from any full-on panic. And he’s thinking about it now, Patrick can practically see the little gears turning over in his head.

The silence stretches, and Patrick is very pointedly not allowing himself to think about how all the movies end in happily ever afters, because he has strictly never permitted himself to think about Jonny romantically. It’s possible he has a few key fantasies in his spank bank, because, seriously, that ass, but they are all purely sexual, never romantic. That way lies broken hearts. He learned his lesson with crushing on straight boys back when he was a teenager, and has had no interest in a repeat performance.

“Right,” Jonny finally breaks the silence. “Okay. How do we do this?”

“Well,” Patrick starts, stops. He doesn’t actually have a plan. This is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea, and it’s going to end in disaster, but the alternative just isn’t an option. “Well,” he starts again, and hopes something that makes sense comes out of his mouth. “If we go to Brisson or the PR team or anyone to try to sort out everything all over again to include you, that’s probably going to raise some eyebrows at this point, given the situation, and take way too long, besides. This shit cannot be hanging over us when the season starts, we’ve got to get it locked down now.”

Jonny’s nodding along a bit, watching Patrick closely like he’s worried he’s going to miss something. It’s a little unnerving, given Patrick’s got no idea what he’s talking about, and when he says, “So we should just get caught making out somewhere,” he’s probably as startled as Jonny, who stops nodding, and just stares.

“We should what.” It’s not a question.

Patrick can feel how wide his own eyes have gotten, but he runs with it. “We can play it off like I was going to come out on my own, you weren’t ready, and that’s maybe something we’ve been dealing with amongst ourselves, but we finally decided it would come out pretty quickly anyhow, and I’ve maybe been pushing you to get married – it will look better than if you’ve been gunning for it, given your situation – and you maybe realized it was going to have to be all or nothing, once I’m out. And maybe we’ll say you had just said yes? And we got careless? And that’s why we were making out in public.”

There’s a silence that seems to stretch on forever, where they just stare at each other, and then Jonny breaks it with, “Did you say ‘amongst’?”

And Patrick. Patrick just starts laughing. It’s not actually all that funny, but of everything that came pouring out of his mouth, Jonny _would_ focus on something so completely unimportant. And then Jonny’s laughing, and it’s definitely more than just a little hysterical on both their parts, but what else are they supposed to do?

It’s several minutes before either of them stops, and when they finally do, gasping a little for oxygen, Patrick feels weirdly drained, and Jonny looks like he’s going to collapse, but somehow slightly less tense around the eyes.

“We can do this,” Patrick tells Jonny when he feels like he can breathe again. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Jonny meets his eyes, and doesn’t quite smile, but doesn’t quite not, either. “I know,” he says quietly, voice as serious as Patrick has ever heard it. “I trust you.”

Patrick nods, once, and hauls himself to his feet. He carefully takes Jonny’s mug away from him, vaguely surprised neither of them spilled coffee anywhere, and puts both mugs in the kitchen, then comes back and drags Jonny up off the couch.

“Nap time,” he says, nudging Jonny down the hall towards his bedroom. “You clearly never went to bed last night, and some asshole woke me up at some ungodly hour. So naps. We’ll deal with everything else when we wake up.”

For once, Jonny doesn’t protest, lets Patrick steer him to bed. He does grab Patrick by the wrist, though, before he can leave. “Hey,” he says, soft, already half asleep before he’s even fully under the covers. “Thanks.”

Patrick gives him a crooked smile. “Anytime.”

Jonny’s chuckle is weak, but there, and he releases Patrick and sinks down into his pillows, eyes already closing.

Patrick shuts the light off on his way out, and goes to collect his bags from where he dumped them and drag them into the biggest guest room. He’s too tired to do more than kick off his shoes and pants and collapse on the bed, asleep almost before he hits the mattress.

+

It’s late afternoon when Patrick wakes up. The condo is silent as he wanders out into the kitchen in search of more coffee and something to eat. He’s got his head in the fridge, the coffee machine gurgling angrily on the counter, when he hears Jonny behind him.

“I don’t know what you make with half the shit in here,” Patrick tells him without looking around, and starts pulling out what he needs for omelets. He figures at least they won’t take too long, since his stomach is telling him that is priority number one right now.

“You’re going to have to move in,” Jonny says, apropos of absolutely nothing. And Patrick knows what he’s talking about, obviously, but it’s going to have to wait.

“Tomato and avocado okay?” he asks, grabbing a bowl and cutting board from the cupboards, because he is not waiting for mushrooms to sauté, and he has zero interest in kale or whatever else Jonny has lurking in his health nut fridge.

“Patrick.”

“Jonathan.”

“We need to figure this out.”

“We will.” Patrick starts cracking eggs into a bowl, only sparing half a second to consider using just the whites before deciding not to bother. “But we also need to eat, and it will be a lot easier to think if we’re not starving. I haven’t eaten since last night, unless you count airplane pretzels – which I do not – and I’ll call bullshit if you tell me you’ve had more than that.”

Jonny’s silence is answer enough.

“So,” Patrick continues, adds some of Jonny’s fake-milk to the bowl and uses a fork to whisk it all together, “I am going to make us something to eat, you can deal with your demon machine so we can have caffeine, and then we will sit and _figure this out_. Capiche?” He puts the bowl aside and starts cutting the tomato and avocado.

Jonny grumbles something under his breath, but he goes and starts fussing with the coffee machine, so Patrick doesn’t ask him to repeat it. He probably doesn’t want to know, anyway.

They work in silence for a while, Jonny eventually leaning against the counter and just watching Patrick work. It makes Patrick roll his eyes, but Jonny doesn’t even notice, gaze fixed on the pan of eggs like he thinks if he doesn’t watch it, Patrick will burn it, or poison it, or sneak in real butter.

When Patrick’s done, Jonny carries the plates over to the breakfast bar while Patrick sets the pan to soak.

Jonny has the decency to wait until Patrick’s halfway through his omelet before breaking the silence. “You’re going to have to move in,” he says, tone exactly the same as the first time he said it.

“Or you could,” Patrick points out, doesn’t dispute the fact that they’re going to have to live together, had already come to that conclusion on his own.

Jonny frowns. “More believable if you move in here.”

“Fuck you,” Patrick says lightly, takes another bite of omelet. “Why’s it more believable for me to move in here than for you to move into my place?”

“Because you will be moving in _here_ ,” Jonny tells him, as if it should be obvious. When Patrick just eyes him across the bar, Jonny huffs out a breath like Patrick’s the one being difficult. “Because you live in a giant ode to compensation, and I do not, and no one who spares it half a thought would believe you could talk me into moving into that place.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow at him. “No?”

“No.”

“Even if I asked _really nicely_?” Patrick waggles his eyebrows.

“Especially then.” Jonny frowns again. “I thought you wanted to move, anyway? Why is this now a sticking point?”

Patrick grins. “It’s not. And I do. Just giving you shit.” He grins wider when Jonny swears at him, and returns to his food.

+

The rest of the afternoon passes in a bit of a surreal blur.

They go to Patrick’s and shove a bunch of his things into a couple bags. He hadn’t brought much from Buffalo, and will need clothes, unless he wants to wander around in Jonny’s, which – Jonny points out – would probably be good for their cause, but isn’t the most practical solution, since Patrick can’t actually wear Jonny’s pants. (Jonny looks a little put out at this, but Patrick knows he loves his ass – not that Patrick blames him, it’s a great ass – so he ignores him.)

“It’s not like I can’t just come back over, if I’ve forgotten something,” Patrick says, throwing a couple movies in on top of his socks. “I can’t actually move out right now, anyway. I was already thinking about it, but it’s still going to be a process, even if I cut out shopping for a new place.”

“It’s probably better anyway,” Jonny agrees. “If it looks like you’ve been keeping your own place for appearances.”

So that’s at least one thing they don’t have to figure out for a bit.

They come up with at least a dozen half-cocked schemes for getting caught, each more outrageous than the last, trying to outdo each other like it’s a game, not something they’re actually going to do. It’s easier. It’s also a good distraction.

Patrick insists they go grocery shopping, because he refuses to live on whatever Jonny keeps in his fridge, and they settle down to make an actual plan over dinner.

+

They go out that night. They make sure it’s a place they’ve been often enough that no one remarks on it when they show up, but busy enough that they know they’ll be recognized, and they know at least a couple photos will be taken, even if nobody bothers them. They’re counting on more than a couple photos tonight.

It’s almost too simple. They have a few drinks, shoot the shit at the bar. Patrick lets himself get lost on the dance floor for a while, time blurring a little with the alcohol and the beat of the music running through him in the dark, lights flashing. Eventually Jonny reappears, pushing through the crowd to tug Patrick away from the group of girls he’d somehow collected (or been collected by, he’s never sure), off the floor, and over to one of the high tables near the wall.

“Are you sure about this?” Jonny asks, doesn’t shout over the noise, but leans in close to be heard. He’s still holding Patrick’s wrist, fingertips bright points of heat against Patrick’s skin, keeping him focused and steady against the rush of the club, grounding him in the moment.

And Patrick. Patrick wants to say no, no he’s not sure, how the hell can he be sure, when this is the most insane thing he’s ever come up with? But all he has to do is look at Jonny’s face, and know he’d do so much more to keep him here, so, “Yeah. Yes. I’m sure,” he says, and rocks forward, up onto his toes, and presses their mouths together.

Kissing Jonny is not quite what Patrick thought it would be. Not that he’s thought about it a whole lot, he really tries not to, but he’d be lying if he said his imagination had never run that way before. It’s a lot more awkward than he’d pictured it, but in his imagination Jonny always kisses back.

“You could work with me a little, here,” Patrick says against Jonny’s mouth, stays in his space, and yes, this is a stupid, ridiculous idea, but he’s pretty sure it will be even worse if they can’t even sell it.

Jonny moves a little, like he’d been frozen, and his hands come up to hold Patrick’s hips, steady him. “Wasn’t expecting a drive-by,” Jonny murmurs back, lips moving against Patrick’s, and then he’s tilting his head in, fixing the angle, and kissing Patrick properly, and it’s suddenly a lot less awkward.

Patrick gets one hand tangled in Jonny’s hair, fists the other in the front of his shirt, and holds on.

It’s both surprising and not that Jonny is really good at this, Patrick thinks, with the corner of his brain not entirely focused on the heat of Jonny’s mouth, the feel of Jonny’s fingers sneaking up under the hem of Patrick’s shirt to get at skin. Patrick can count on one hand the number of times he has seen Jonny willingly do something he isn’t good at, but it still hits Patrick hard in the gut _how_ good Jonny is, and he has a brief moment of absolute panic that he’s in way over his head, before he quashes it ruthlessly in favour of sinking further into the kiss, shifting closer until they’re pressed together chest to knees, and he can’t think about anything else.

When they break apart, some indeterminate amount of time later, they’re both breathing hard. Patrick’s still got one hand twisted uncomfortably between them where he’s gripping Jonny’s shirt, the other in the mess he’s made of Jonny’s hair. Jonny’s got one hand fully up the back of Patrick’s shirt, the other dangerously low on his waist, the fingertips tucked just under the waistband of Patrick’s jeans.

“Damn,” Patrick breathes, and tilts his chin back up when Jonny leans in, but Jonny doesn’t kiss him again.

“Good?” Jonny asks, almost more exhalation than word, and if Patrick hadn’t been sharing his air, he wouldn’t have heard it.

Patrick nods, can still feel his heart thudding hard against his ribcage, can feel _Jonny’s_ heart beating rapidly, and this is the point at which Patrick would normally ask the guy wrapped around him to go home with him. But they’re already going home together, and Jonny isn’t –

“Should we go?” Jonny’s voice is still so quiet, intimate, and his eyes are so dark, and Patrick can _feel_ how affected he is, is a little grateful it’s not just him, even though Jonny’s not – Jonny doesn’t.

Patrick nods again, doesn’t quite trust his voice.

Jonny grins, just a brief, bright flash of teeth, and it’s somewhere between the way he usually smiles at Patrick when he’s pleased with something, and the way he smirks when he’s trying not to laugh. “For luck,” he says, brushes a barely-there kiss against Patrick’s lips, and then steps back, away, and Patrick barely manages not to grab him back. But Jonny’s pulling Patrick with him, tugging him through the club and out the door.

There’s no way Patrick could miss how many people turn to watch them go, even in the dim lighting of the club. And then they hit the lit street outside, and Patrick gets a good look at Jonny, lips bee-stung, hair going everywhere, shirt obviously crumpled at the front, and wonders if he looks the same, just barely keeps from touching his own lips, where he can still feel the edge of Jonny’s teeth.

“Fuck,” Patrick says, can’t help it.

Jonny’s grinning wider, now, clearly pleased with himself.

People are still watching, and there are at least a handful of phones aimed in their direction, though Patrick can’t tell if people are taking pictures or video. He’s not sure which would be better, at this point, and can’t quite get his brain back on track to think about it.

“Home?” Jonny asks him, and he’s already got his own phone in the hand not wrapped around Patrick’s wrist.

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, a little vaguely, still buzzing. He twists his wrist in Jonny’s grip until they’re holding hands.

Jonny looks up at Patrick, then down at their joined hands as Patrick links their fingers together. “Right,” he says, quiet like it’s to himself, and then he looks back up, nods once, and squeezes Patrick’s hand a bit, before going back to his phone to finish calling a car.

+

It’s still fairly early when Patrick wakes up the next morning, in spite of the late night. He determinedly doesn’t even glance at his phone, figuring he can deal with whatever’s on there when Jonny’s up and they can deal with the fallout together. He grabs a bowl of cereal, turns on the coffee maker, and goes to start unpacking while it spits and hisses like something from a horror movie. He’s going to have to make another run to his place to get his own Nespresso machine, because this is not going to fly.

It only takes opening the closet and the dresser in the guest room for Patrick to realize he already had clothes at Jonny’s. The drawers are half full of everything from socks to t-shirts, and there are a couple suits in the closet. There’s even a toothbrush he’s used in the guest bathroom, and a bottle of the shampoo he likes in the shower. Patrick knows he and Jonny spend a lot of time together, but he hadn’t realized he’d spent so many nights at Jonny’s place, to accumulate so much stuff there.

Even more disconcerting is the number of things Patrick packed at his own place that were actually Jonny’s to begin with. Hoodies and shirts, mostly, but there’s a pair of sweatpants that are definitely too big for Patrick, and a handful of the movies and video games he’d grabbed were things Jonny had left at Patrick’s at one time or another. He doesn’t bother looking down at the shirt he slept in, knows he’s got University of North Dakota stamped across his chest. At least he knows how he ended up with this one, had worn it once when he’d crashed with Jonny, and had made off with it because it was so soft. The rest of it is another story.

“I was wondering where that shirt had gone,” Jonny says from the door, and Patrick, startled, jerks around to face him.

“What?” he asks, mind going a little blank as he watches Jonny tie the drawstring on the sweatpants he’s clearly only just put on. He’s not wearing a shirt. Patrick is usually better about this sort of thing, has spent so much time around Jonny in all shades of undress that it’s mostly like very nice scenery: he appreciates and catalogues it for later, but doesn’t really need to stare at it. Except now he’s just getting sense memories from last night, being pressed up against him in the club, and all that skin only separated from him by a little bit of fabric. This might be problematic. With way too much effort, he jerks his gaze up to Jonny’s.

Jonny, the ass, is smirking at him. “See something you like?” he asks.

“I haven’t had any coffee, yet,” Patrick says, only a little defensively. It’s as good an excuse as any.

Jonny snorts. “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

“Glad your machine didn’t die halfway through,” Patrick says as bitingly as he can manage, and pushes his way past Jonny and back to the kitchen.

“There’s nothing wrong with my coffee maker,” Jonny informs him, trailing behind.

It’s Patrick’s turn to snort. “It’s a piece of trash and should be put out of my misery. I’m picking mine up today. I can’t live like this, Jonny.”

The eye roll Jonny gives his back is practically audible.

“I saw that,” Patrick says, making a beeline for the coffee.

And there’s another one. “No you didn’t,” Jonny’s voice is somewhere between fond and put out. “And you’re still wearing my shirt.”

Patrick puts a hand against his chest, feels the calluses catch a little on the cotton. “It’s a very nice shirt,” he points out, tosses a grin over his shoulder at Jonny, who’s watching him oddly.

“It is,” Jonny agrees, still with that odd look on his face. It’s a little exasperated, which makes sense, and a little smug, which makes less sense, except for how Jonny’s weird about his things like that, so maybe that does make sense after all. He’s still not getting his shirt back.

“Coffee?” Patrick offers, turns with a second empty mug, and steps back hard into the counter when he realizes Jonny has come up right behind him.

“Yes, please,” Jonny’s politeness is a little at odds with his continued presence in Patrick’s dance space. He leans in until his bare chest is a hair’s breadth from being pressed against Patrick, and Patrick stops breathing. Then Jonny’s gone, pulling back out of Patrick’s personal bubble, the full cup of coffee Patrick had poured for himself in one hand, the other going to scratch at his stomach. “Thanks,” he says, smiles a little shark-like, and wanders over to the fridge to find one of his gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free, joy-free cream substitutes.

For a long moment, Patrick doesn’t move, empty mug in hand, back pressed uncomfortably against the edge of the counter. He has no fucking clue what just happened.

+

Mid-afternoon, and Patrick’s still trying to figure out what’s going on with Jonny. He’s pretty sure something _is_ going on, but he can’t put his finger on it. Something besides his impending deportation back to the icy northern abyss if he doesn’t marry his very dudely, but American, friend, that is.

It’s not like Jonny’s really behaving any differently than he usually does. He normally gets all up in Patrick’s space – whether in private or in front of other people – and Patrick is often in Jonny’s space. Though, when _Patrick_ does it in public, it is purely retaliatory, and he is sticking to that. Patrick is a fucking grown-up, and knows how to behave in front of others. Jonny, on the other hand, is a little shit, and anyone who thinks differently is fooling themselves. Patrick should be sainted for taking the man off the market, he really should be. The point _is_ , the way Jonny’s been practically on top of Patrick every time he’s turned around all day isn’t a new thing. Not really. But it _feels_ different.

And Jonny keeps _watching_ him. Not that he doesn’t do that, normally, either, but. It’s getting under Patrick’s skin. Probably, it’s just because of the kissing. Patrick is reading too much into it. Not that he’s reading anything into it. He doesn’t even know what he _would_ be reading into it. It’s just weird. Jonny is most definitely being weird. Patrick’s almost positive he’s not imagining it.

Patrick is definitely not imagining how deeply Not Happy everyone is with them. By the time they’ve both eaten and properly caffeinated, they have an uncomfortable collection of messages from management, Brisson, various family members, and friends and teammates – both current and former – who really should know better than to trawl the internet at odd hours of the night and early morning. They return their calls to Brisson and management together, for expediency purposes only. The calls are short, and Patrick is a little relieved there are no raised voices, though he’s not sure they’ll be so lucky when they actually have to fully explain in person.

Also for expediency purposes, Patrick ignores his sisters’ calls and goes straight for his mother’s number.

“Your sisters tell me you’re on the internet, again,” Donna says when she answers the phone.

“Hi, Mom, how are you?” Patrick asks pointedly. He’s flopped out on the guest bed – his bed now, he guesses – having abandoned Jonny to his own mother. He’s got no idea what they were saying, Jonny having switched to rapid fire French almost immediately, but it sounded stressful.

“ _My_ only son spent months planning a very controlled and dignified way to come out of the closet to the entire world, and then decided to blow it by kissing his very male teammate in public like a teenager,” she replies waspishly. “And how are _you_?”

“Feeling a little stupid,” Patrick admits, and he does, though not exactly for the reasons she thinks. He figures he may as well wrap the lie up in as much truth as possible.

There’s a very audible sigh over the line. “Pat, honey, what were you thinking? You had everything so nicely planned. You were going to be on Ellen!”

Patrick rolls his eyes, since it’s not like she can see it, anyway. “I can still be on Ellen, Mom. I talked to Brisson this morning, and I’ll talk to him again tonight, after I’ve met with Stan. We’ll figure it out.”

“And Jonathan?” Donna asks. “Is that why this happened? Is this new? Were you just,” she pauses, then says, almost delicately, “carried away?”

“ _Mom_ ,” Patrick stares very hard at his ceiling, tries to fight the way his face is heating up. He really hopes she hasn’t actually seen the pictures. _He_ doesn’t even want to know what the pictures look like. The memory alone is enough to make him wish he weren’t on the phone with his mother.

“I’m just asking,” she says, and he can practically see her holding up her hands. “I know how the two of you are. It’s not like it’s all that surprising that it happened, just that it took this long. And this isn’t exactly the way I would have liked to have found out.”

Patrick blinks up at his ceiling, then pushes himself upright and blinks again at the wall, because, what? “What?”

“It would have been nice if you’d told us you and Jonathan were dating before we all had to find out from your sisters’ Google alerts,” Donna tells him, a little tartly.

“Not that,” Patrick says quickly, because he really does not want to get into that. “The part before that.”

“Honey,” and his mom sounds almost gentle, now. “The way the two of you have been from day one, I’m really only surprised you’re not married by now.”

And this is not at all how Patrick meant for this to go, but he opens his mouth, and what comes out is, “We’re getting married.”

Several full seconds of silence tick by.

Patrick pulls the phone away from his ear to check that they’re still connected, then brings it back. “Mom?”

“This is a little elaborate for a prank,” is what Donna eventually says, and there’s something deceptively calm about her tone that Patrick knows from experience does not bode well.

“It’s not a prank.” Patrick takes a deep breath. “Mom, Jonny and I are getting married. We’re. It’s been. A while.” Patrick realizes they never actually decided what to tell people in terms of how long they’re pretending they’ve been a couple, figures something nebulous might be best, anyway, let people guess, or think they were on and off. He just hopes no one thinks they were cheating on any of their girlfriends. “We don’t. He didn’t want,” Patrick stops again, takes another breath, and this part they’ve talked about, they have this part of the story sorted, but telling it to his mom is different from telling Brisson. “I wanted to get married – you know that’s something I wanted, eventually – and he wasn’t sure, especially since we hadn’t told anyone, and he didn’t want to come out. And I. Well. You know I wanted to come out. So I was going to just, you know, do it on my own. And then. And then he figured people would find out anyway, and I guess – I guess he thought if I was out, he’d either have to come out, too, or we’d have to, you know, break up, and if he was coming out, anyway, we might as well get married, so…” Patrick trails off, isn’t quite sure where to go from there, wishes he’d maybe rehearsed that a little better, wonders if he should be crossing his fingers in the hopes his mother can’t tell he’s lying through his teeth.

“Patrick Timothy Kane, you tell me you didn’t decide to come out to force that boy to make a choice,” Donna says, and Patrick’s jaw drops. That is _not at all_ what he was expecting.

“What the hell, Mom?”

“Don’t you ‘what the hell, Mom’ me, young man,” and Patrick has not heard his mother sound this stern in _years_. “I know how you are when you get it in your head that you want something. I wouldn’t have thought you’d stoop to such measures, but I wouldn’t have thought you’d keep a relationship like this from your family, either. And I want you to tell me right now that you did not decide to uproot everyone’s lives in order to make your _secret boyfriend_ agree to a commitment he wasn’t sure he wanted.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Patrick hisses, because this is _ridiculous_. “I would _never_. Jonny would never _let me_ , and I wouldn’t do a thing like that to him. Or to anyone! We were already _committed_ , anyway. We just. I wanted the tradition and the ring, and the actual ceremony isn’t really a big deal to him, but he wasn’t out to _anyone_. I wasn’t going to force him. That’s why I was going to do it on my own. And I wouldn’t have broken up with him, either, if that’s what you’re going to ask next. That was all in his own head. But he wasn’t _wrong_ that it would be harder to hide it if I was out, and I guess he decided – on his _own_ – that he didn’t want to keep hiding. It. Me. Us.” And Patrick has _got_ to stop just letting his mouth go, because this sounds almost legitimate even to him, and he knows it’s a load of bullshit. Or maybe he needs to always let his mouth make the decisions, because his head clearly has no idea what’s going on, and this might be the best way to sell their mess of a made-up love story.

Donna hums down the line, but it’s thoughtful, not angry or disbelieving. “I’m glad to hear it,” she says after a moment long enough that Patrick’s about to start biting his nails. “All of it,” she adds, and that’s. Nice. It gives Patrick a weird feeling of warmth, that his mother approves, which is just as ridiculous as everything else, because there isn’t even anything real for her to approve _of_. But, still. It’s his mom. “He’s not even out to his family?” she asks.

“No,” Patrick says, carefully, because he’s not quite sure how they’re playing that, but Jonny’s not actually gay, so he feels safe in making the assumption. “I mean. He’s on the phone with his mom now? This wasn’t how we would have chosen to do this.” Had they actually been dating, Patrick would have been talking to his family about it every step of the way. Had he actually proposed – had his boyfriend actually accepted – he would have called his mother immediately to tell her the news. This is not at all how he’d thought this would go, but it’s for Jonny, so he can’t regret it. He really does not want to think about the fact that he’s willingly lying to his mother about something this big. But Jonny. Jonny’s worth anything.

“I should hope not,” she says, but there’s something kind there. Patrick’s not sure if it’s for himself or for Jonny. He guesses, as far as she’s concerned, it’s the same thing now.

“Will you, um,” Patrick hesitates, then pushes on, because he doesn’t really have time to do this again right now, let alone four more times. “Will you tell the girls? And Dad? Jonny and I have to go talk to Stan.”

Donna’s sigh is very pointedly put-upon sounding, and directly into the phone, but all she says is, “You’ll have to talk to them eventually.”

Patrick keeps his sigh of relief silent. “I know,” he says. “I just don’t want them to sit and stew any longer than necessary, and I have to go.”

“All right,” Donna concedes. “I’ll tell them.”

“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you, too. And Patrick?” Donna waits.

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you. And Jonathan.” Donna’s voice is serious, but warm. “Tell him for me. And don’t forget it yourself, either.”

“I won’t,” Patrick says, has to swallow hard to get the words out, wonders if she’d still be proud if she knew he was lying like this, but her pride makes him feel as warm as her approval. “Thanks,” he says again, and lets her go, so he can go make sure Andrée hasn’t managed to reach through the phone to throttle her oldest son, so they can go face down the Blackhawks brass.

+

It’s probably not intentional, Patrick and Jonny being on one side of the office and Stan, Q, and fucking _Rocky_ on the other, outnumbering them, and making Patrick feel a little like he’s been sent to the principal’s office, even though that’s not something he has actual experience with. At least, Patrick’s pretty sure it’s not intentional, but he doesn’t think it’s entirely accidental, either.

Jonny either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he’s sitting in his chair like he’s in here all the time, and, Captain or not, Patrick _knows_ that’s not the case. Jonny’s never-have-I-ever-done-anything-wrong attitude has been mostly comforting, though. Confidence inspiring, even. Everyone else certainly seems to be buying it, so Patrick’s trying to just let him work his Captain Serious magic. If he’s mentally crossing his fingers that this doesn’t all blow up in their faces right now, in this room, well, what no one else knows won’t hurt him.

Even though they’d both adamantly declared on the phone already that this wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t a bet or a dare, and they hadn’t been drunk and unaware of what they were doing, they have to go over it all again. Patrick isn’t sure if he wants to roll his eyes so hard they stick, or sink into the floor and never see any of these people ever again. Jonny seems to be in the former category, but Patrick is only half-convinced it’s not an act. Especially given the load of nonsense Jonny’s been spouting, perfectly straight-faced, since the moment they sat down.

“It was dark, and it was a private moment,” Jonny insists, as full of righteous indignation as Patrick has ever seen him. “We weren’t drunk, we certainly weren’t _on anything_ , and I shouldn’t have to _contain myself_ when I’ve just agreed to marry my boyfriend, because the people around us might be a little camera-happy.”

There’s a bit of sputtering from across the desk, and a couple dropped jaws. Patrick’s impressed in spite of himself.

“ _Marry_?” Stan eventually manages.

“Boyfriend?” Q demands at the same time.

“I should have thought that was obvious,” Jonny tells Q, in a way Patrick wouldn’t have dared. “And yes,” he adds to Stan. “Kaner has been, you know,” Jonny waves a hand vaguely in a way that means absolutely nothing, but is probably supposed to indicate _asking me to be his lawfully wedded husband_ , “and I didn’t think we should, but last night,” Jonny pauses, slides a very deliberate glance at Patrick, smiles just a little, like he can’t help himself, and then looks back at Stan. “I knew what I wanted, and that I wanted it for the rest of my life, and I couldn’t keep saying no. So I said yes.” He shrugs, like he doesn’t have the three most important men in the franchise staring at him like he’s grown another head and decided to switch to curling. “And if I maybe got a little enthusiastic in my acceptance, that’s nobody’s business but mine and Kaner’s.” He looks at Patrick again, and it’s just so incredibly _fond_ that Patrick doesn’t even know what to do with it.

Rocky clears his throat loudly, and both Patrick and Jonny turn back to him. “So this is serious,” he says, like Jonny didn’t just spell it out for him.

Jonny draws in a deep breath, but Patrick decides now is probably the moment for him to jump in. He’s not sure he wants to know what Jonny might be about to come out with. “Yes,” he says, tells himself to keep it simple, but firm. “It’s serious. We’re getting married. And it should probably be included in the release I’ve been working on.”

“That’s another thing,” Stan tugs his chair closer to his desk so he can lean over. He’s nowhere near Patrick’s personal space, but the move gives the impression of looming, regardless. “Why wasn’t Jonathan included in our original talks about you coming out? Why hasn’t he been involved at all up until now?”

“I wasn’t ready,” Jonny’s voice isn’t loud, but it’s even more firm than Patrick’s. “I wasn’t out to anyone. Even my family didn’t know. And I didn’t know if I was ready to be in a public relationship. Kaner and I – our relationship has been very up and down, and while I know coming out has been something he’s wanted, I just wasn’t ready for it. And I hope,” here Jonny darts a quick look at Patrick, “I _really_ hope, that I haven’t been the reason he’s held out for so long. But he finally decided he was going to do it, and you have no idea how proud I am of him for that, but I wasn’t sure what that meant for me – or for _us_ – and he agreed to keep me out of it.”

Stan has leaned back in his chair again, but Q’s sitting upright, and Rocky has his elbows planted on his knees. None of them interrupts.

“Now I’ve figured out what Kaner knew all along,” Jonny continues, still in that super determined voice. “This matters more than all of my hang-ups. It matters more for me, and for Kaner, and for everyone out there like us. My family knows, now. It’s worth it, to me. _Kaner_ is worth it. And I’m ready to tell everyone.”

For a long moment, there’s complete silence. Patrick has to fight the urge to clap. He’s pretty sure Jonny deserves an Oscar for this performance. Or a Tony. How the guy who can’t even get through a commercial shoot without cracking up a million times, or screwing up all of his lines, can do this, he has no idea, but he is thoroughly impressed. If they were actually together, he’d be giving Jonny the kiss of his life right about now. And probably a blow job as soon as they could get somewhere private. But that’s probably not a thing he should be thinking about, certainly not in his boss’s office. Patrick settles for reaching out and putting a hand on Jonny’s leg, just above the knee, giving it a squeeze and a tiny shake.

Jonny looks over at him, meets his eyes, and covers Patrick’s hand with his own, lacing their fingers together.

It’s Q’s turn to clear his throat, but when Patrick and Jonny look at him, he’s got the beginnings of a smile under his mustache. “Well,” he says. “I won’t pretend I’m not surprised, but I also won’t pretend I didn’t wonder once or twice.”

Patrick involuntarily clamps down more firmly on Jonny’s leg, feels it stiffen under his palm even as Jonny’s fingers clench tight.

“No, I never saw anything,” Q holds up a hand placatingly, like he thinks Patrick and Jonny might be worried they weren’t discreet enough in their supposedly secret tryst. “You boys were certainly good at hiding whatever you were doing, but the way you are with each other, well, you remind me of myself and Elizabeth, sometimes, and we’ve known each other longer than either of you has been alive.”

For a second Patrick thinks Q’s joking, but he’s not laughing, and, even more bizarrely, Stan is nodding along like he _agrees_. It’s all so ridiculous Patrick almost looks at Jonny, realizes at the last second that would probably look odd, given what they’ve just been saying, and somehow keeps looking straight ahead.

Q clears his throat again, a little gruffly this time. “What I mean to say is, I can’t approve of you two getting splashed all over the gossip pages,” he gives Patrick a look Patrick understands to mean _again_ , but kindly doesn’t say it, “but I know this can’t have been easy for you, and it certainly won’t get any easier now, but. Well. I’m proud of you both.”

Patrick’s jaw drops, and he doesn’t even try to stop it. This is _not_ what he was expecting, any more than he expected it from his mother. Everyone had been all on board by the end of their talks and negotiations about the best way for him to come out – on his own – but he’d been going the responsible route, and had been listening to their advice, and it had _just been him_. Now it’s him and _Jonny_. Together. And they pretty much tore up all the hard work Patrick had been doing with everyone and their mother (well, his mother, at least) since April, all in a few presumed-ill-advised minutes. And everyone is _proud_ of them?

It’s possible everyone is laughing at Patrick, though at least none of them does it out loud.

“You knew we were behind you, Patrick,” Stan is saying. “How could you think it would be any different with both of you?”

Which is fair. Patrick shuts his mouth. He gives himself a quick mental shake. “So we can just carry on with the original plan?” he asks. He knows it’s not actually going to work that way, but he figures he ought to try.

All three of his bosses are shaking their heads. “We can’t just ignore that this happened,” Rocky says, and that’s really not what Patrick meant.

“I know that. But I meant, we stick to the original plan, but with Jonny.”

Jonny digs his thumb into Patrick’s hand, but Patrick’s not quite sure what he’s trying to say. Probably warning him not to try to play too dumb.

It’s not a stupid idea, though. They’re going to have to do something – and soon – and they may as well build on what they already have.

“We need a narrative,” Rocky explains, not as if he thinks anyone in the room doesn’t know that, but more like he’s trying to think through their options. “When it was just Patrick coming out on his own, that was fine. But with the two of you – with the two of you _getting married_ – that’s going to be exponentially bigger. And it’s already out there, there are pictures everywhere.” He gives them both a look that’s somewhere between exasperated and very pointed. “We can’t contain it, and we’re going to have to move fast, whatever we do. People are going to want to know how long you’ve been together, what this means for the team, why you’re choosing now to go public. If we run your engagement, they’re going to want to know if that’s going to affect the season.” He gives them another look. “It had better not affect the season.”

“No, sir,” Patrick and Jonny both say at the same time.

“Look,” Jonny says, after giving Patrick a look of his own. “Why don’t we just push up our timeline? We hadn’t planned on actually getting married immediately, and our mothers will kill us if we don’t give them enough time to plan, but we can at least get it done before the season starts.”

“‘Get it done,’” Patrick parrots, only half under his breath. “How romantic.”

Q snorts as Jonny turns to glare and dig his thumb in again, harder. “You know what I mean,” he says, and even manages not to sound either stiff as a board or faintly murderous when he says it. “If we get married before the season starts, no one can say we’re not fully focused come October.”

“That would also be a very clean solution to your visa issue,” Stan points out, and Jonny’s head whips towards him.

It’s Patrick’s turn to dig his fingers in, hard, to Jonny’s thigh. To his credit, Jonny barely flinches.

“Have you not –?” Stan starts, but Jonny cuts him off.

“He knows. I told him. You’d said it was being handled?”

“Naturally,” Stan agrees, “but it hasn’t been sorted out, yet. You know these things take time.”

Patrick tightens his fingers again, just a little, just an _I told you so_ , because he did. Management might take time, but they don’t have much time before training camp, barely two months, and Patrick’s way might be insane, but at least it’s expedient.

Jonny squeezes back, either in agreement or just acknowledgement Patrick’s not sure. He’ll take it as both.

“So our _getting it done_ ,” Patrick gives Jonny a very pointed look, and hears Q snort again, “would be in everyone’s best interests all around?”

“You’re the one who wanted to get married,” Jonny says, only a little snottily.

“Yes, but –”

“Boys,” Stan interrupts, and it’s oddly fond, like he’s invested now. “Will this be a problem?”

Patrick looks over at Jonny, meets his gaze steadily for a minute. He’s not quite sure either of them can believe they’re actually pulling this off. “No,” he says, still watching Jonny. “We hadn’t, well, we hadn’t really talked details, yet, but I don’t think either of us was banking on a long engagement. The wedding isn’t what’s important, anyway.”

“Well said,” Rocky puts in.

“Why don’t we talk to our mothers?” Jonny suggests, and he’s still holding Patrick’s eyes. “Either the week before training camp or the week between camp and opening day might be okay,” he breaks away to look at Stan. “Unless that will cause visa problems?”

“I think we can work it out,” Stan assures them.

“Neither of you would be playing every pre-season game, anyway, so we can manage,” Q adds.

“Okay,” Jonny says. He turns back to Patrick. “Okay?”

Patrick nods slowly. They’re really doing this. “Okay.”

+

The ride home is almost silent, the air conditioner barely covering the muffled sounds of the city traffic outside their windows. Patrick thinks about saying something, or turning the radio on, but can’t quite find the energy to do either. He’s not sure how sitting in a chair and talking could be more draining than double-shifting on the ice, but somehow it managed.

“Dinner?” Jonny asks as they ride the elevator up to his condo, the first thing either of them has said since leaving the UC.

“I could eat,” Patrick allows, realizing as he says it that he’s starving.

They talk about random things while they fix dinner and eat. They get the most mileage out of Erica’s boyfriend (Patrick doesn’t trust him; Jonny points out – completely unnecessarily – that Patrick never trusts the guys his sisters date, and Patrick is forced to remind him that none of them have lasted, so, obviously, he’s been right not to trust them), but they touch on Jess and Jacki and the shopping spree they talked Patrick into when he first got home, and David getting Jonny’s Winnipeg friends together to try to cheer him up. Jonny skirts anything and everything that might bring them back to what they’re doing, what they spent the day doing, and Patrick lets him, figures half an hour of ignoring the giant elephant in the room won’t make it any bigger, may as well take a break.

As soon as the dishes are safely in the dishwasher, though, Patrick decides enough is enough.

“We still have to deal with everyone else,” he tells Jonny firmly, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and waves it. “I’ve got about a million messages from everyone I’ve ever met asking what the hell is going on. Don’t pretend you don’t have the same, because I saw your phone this morning when we called Brisson.”

On anyone else, the look Jonny’s sporting would be called a pout. Patrick knows this whole thing is a shitshow, and worse for Jonny, so he’ll be magnanimous and call it a scowl. Or, at least, a petulant scowl. Jonny’s attempt to make him feel guilty makes him feel less magnanimous. “Don’t give me that look.” He’s not going to cave, and he really doesn’t appreciate that Jonny thinks he will. “And just for that, you can be the one to send out the ‘just letting you know we’re getting married – sorry we didn’t tell you we were together’ message to the team.” Patrick sticks out his tongue when Jonny’s expression morphs into something more horrified, just because he can. “Call it captainly duties.”

“It was your stupid idea,” Jonny points out, not quite desperate, but Patrick can see it lurking.

“I’m not the one who forgot to sign on the dotted line,” Patrick responds, a little smugly, because there really isn’t anything Jonny can say to refute that.

From the expression now on Jonny’s face, he knows he’s stuck. “Fine,” he concedes eventually. “But you have to help me figure out what to say. And ‘by the way, we’re getting hitched’ is _not_ an acceptable way to come out. We have to play with these guys, they’re our friends, and that’s not fair to them.”

Patrick blinks at him. “I’m already out to them,” he reminds Jonny. “Everyone but the prospies, anyway. The older guys have known for pretty much ever, and I talked to most of the others before I left Chicago for the summer. I’ve been planning on coming out for months, Jonny. I wasn’t going to let them find out from Deadspin.”

Jonny blinks back. “Oh. Right.” He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, clearly processing.

“Are you _sure_ we can’t just tell them we’re getting married?” Patrick asks, when Jonny hasn’t said anything for what feels like approximately an hour, but has probably only been a minute or two. “Let them think it’s a joke until we actually sign the papers? It’d be a great way to get them back for years of hassling. Just think of Sharpy’s face! And Bur!” Patrick can’t help but grin at the image.

“We really can’t,” Jonny says, but he doesn’t sound all that convinced. “It would be pretty satisfying, though, wouldn’t it?”

Patrick feels his grin grow. “The sweetest revenge.”

“Except for how we’re _actually_ getting married,” Jonny points out.

“That’s the best part!” Patrick knows he shouldn’t be running with this, but he can’t quite help it. “They’ll never expect it! We’ll be telling the truth, and they’ll end up playing the trick on themselves.”

Jonny laughs. “They’d never believe we’d get Rocky in on it, though. Q and Stan, maybe. The media? Not so much. And they know you’d never put something fake like that out there.”

“You wouldn’t either,” Patrick feels compelled to point out. His complete and utter shock over Patrick’s decision to come out publicly notwithstanding, Jonny has been a better friend than Patrick could even have hoped for over the years, and is a big part of why Patrick had been willing to tell as many people as he had before he’d ever made the decision to tell everyone.

Jonny shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, and brings them back around to the point of it. “We still need something to tell them. And I’d like to get it all in one message. I want as few questions as possible after we do this.”

“There are going to be questions,” Patrick can’t help but point out.

Jonny huffs at him. “I _know_ that. I just want at least all the facts out there in one go. And it needs to be simple, or one of us is going to fuck it up.”

“Hey,” Patrick says, only a little indignantly, because it’s not like Jonny’s wrong.

Jonny ignores him, which is only fair, and goes to get his laptop so they can figure out the best way to lie convincingly to everyone they know.

+

The number of messages Patrick gets in response to Jonny’s ‘all the facts’ announcement is possibly more absurd than what he’d gotten for the pictures of him and Jonny in the club to begin with. At least there’s more variety, this time, though there are still a lot of “what the fuck?” and “is this a prank?” messages, the latter particularly from the guys who played with them when both Sharpy and Bur were still on the ‘Hawks.

The soothing burble of Patrick’s Nespresso is winding down when Jonny appears in the kitchen, half awake, but glaring down at his phone like it insulted his mother.

“Everything okay?” Patrick asks. He can’t quite tell if Jonny’s glaring because he’s in dire need of caffeine and his phone is offending him on principle, or if it’s something more serious, if someone said something shitty. Patrick’s only about halfway through his own messages, and while he certainly wouldn’t show a lot of them to his parents, no one has actually been unpleasant.

Jonny grunts and shoves his phone into Patrick’s face.

Patrick jerks back automatically, but catches the phone. The message showing is from Tyler Seguin. “I didn’t know you and Tyler were buddies,” he says.

Jonny turns his scowl on Patrick. “We’re not,” he snaps, and gestures at Patrick to read it.

When he does, Patrick can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. _If you change your mind,_ it says, _just know he has options._

“It’s not funny,” Jonny grouses, taking his phone back.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Of course it is. It’s not like we were ever actually serious.”

“What?” Jonny is starting to look like his face might freeze in a permanent glower.

With an eye to self-preservation, Patrick gets up to fix Jonny’s coffee from the mug he’d brewed for himself. “Tyler and I used to hook up,” Patrick explains. “Pretty regularly in Biel, but a few times after. A couple times in the offseason. All-Stars. Once in Dallas. But it’s never really been a thing, you know?”

The look Jonny is still giving him says very much that he does _not_ know.

“Here, drink this, look less murderous,” Patrick orders, shoving the mug at him.

Jonny takes the mug, but continues to look borderline homicidal. “Are you still,” he pauses, “ _hooking up_?” Jonny says the words like he’d like to use different ones, but is too polite.

Patrick rolls his eyes again. “Of course not,” he makes sure it sounds as ridiculous as it is. “I’m marrying you.”

Jonny makes a noise that sounds a bit like his coffee machine at its angriest. “I’m being serious, Kaner.”

“So am I,” Patrick retorts. “This has to be all in for both of us, I’m not going to fuck that up by fucking around with Tyler, or anyone else.”

A look of surprise takes over the scowl on Jonny’s face. “You really are serious,” he says.

Now it’s Patrick’s turn to frown. “Of course I am. We can’t half-ass this.” He shakes his head. “Don’t be an idiot.” And then, before they can go more into it – because Patrick still doesn’t really want to think too deeply about any of it – he adds, “Besides, Ty’s got something going on with someone else. Or wants to have something. He won’t say,” Patrick goes on confidentially, “but I bet it’s Benn.”

Jonny gives Patrick a faintly appalled look at that. “Should you really be outing people?” he demands. “For that matter, should you have told me about Seguin?”

Patrick shrugs. “I’m just speculating about Benn, and I’m pretty sure Ty outed himself to you when he told you I had options.” Patrick pointedly doesn’t share that all Tyler had said to _him_ was _Get you some!_ – he doesn’t think Jonny would appreciate that. He’s not sure _he_ appreciates that. “And I don’t know if it counts as outing, anyway, when he tried to out himself on social media and everyone just got all huffy and called him homophobic instead of realizing he was talking about himself.” Patrick had been impressed, first with Tyler for putting himself out there, and then with the entire rest of the world, for not getting it.

Jonny looks like he’s trying to figure out what Patrick is talking about, then his eyes widen. “Oh! I hadn’t – right.” He blinks a few times, clearly re-processing.

While Jonny readjusts his worldview, or whatever he’s got going on in his brain, Patrick makes himself some coffee and goes back to his own messages. He ignores Jonny fumbling around making breakfast, and shoots off responses where needed – he sends Tyler a smiley face, figuring that’s his safest bet between telling him to fuck off and oversharing. He’s almost caught up when a new message buzzes through.

“Why is TJ Oshie texting me?” he asks aloud.

Across the room, Jonny goes still.

Feeling a little suspicious, now, Patrick thumbs into the message, and feels his eyebrows go all the way up. “Why is TJ Oshie texting me about your kissing prowess?” he corrects himself, wonders how he should be feeling, because mostly he’s just surprised at the _he’s a good kisser, innee?_ staring back at him.

A second text pops up while Patrick is still looking at the first. _He’ll never tell, but he loves when you kiss right behind his ears – a little teeth for extra reward, if you didn’t already know!_ and, almost immediately after, _USA sticks together!_

“Jonny.”

Jonny makes a noise a bit like a coffee grinder.

Patrick looks up at him.

The expression on Jonny’s face is a cross between his usual ‘why do I like these idiots?’ and his slightly less familiar, but equally endearing, ‘I have been grievously wronged, someone must die.’ Patrick’s not quite sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“Jonny,” he tries again.

“TJ’s full of shit,” is what Jonny comes out with. “It’s not like he had any idea what he was doing, either.”

Patrick eyes him. “I dunno, man, I got a taste of the action the other night, and, much as it pains me to compliment you for anything non-hockey related, I have to agree with Broshie – you’re pretty decent at it.” He waggles his eyebrows at Jonny’s now-confused expression.

“What?”

“I have no idea what you two got up to – or why you didn’t tell me at some point in the last, I don’t know, five years? Because, seriously – but he wasn’t trashing your reputation.”

“Well. Good.” Jonny still looks vaguely confused, but less put out. “And why would I have told you?”

“All my freaking out when I first came out to you, and all the time since, and everything that we’re doing now, you couldn’t have at least said, ‘yeah, I like dudes, too’?” Patrick gets it, mostly, he does, but there’s still a glimmer of hurt that he can’t quite smother.

Jonny looks even more confused. “I don’t,” he says.

Patrick shakes his phone in Jonny’s general direction. “I’ve got three text messages that say otherwise.”

Jonny actually has the nerve to roll his eyes. “I don’t know what TJ’s telling you, but we made out _once_. We were drunk and high and had no idea what we were doing, and my lasting memory of it is being impressed that no one lost an eye, given the state we were in. That was the first and last time I did anything – or had any _interest_ in doing anything – with another guy until the other night at the club.”

Approximately five hundred questions jump into Patrick’s mind at once, and he flounders for long enough that Jonny goes back to his breakfast, clearly assuming the conversation is over, rather than just paused for Patrick to collect his thoughts.

“You were interested the other night, though,” seems to be the most pressing issue.

Jonny gives him his patented ‘I thought we were done here’ look over his bowl of healthy goop. “You’re an idiot,” is his helpful response.

“But an idiot you were into,” Patrick persists, because he was there, but he’s sort of been writing it off as the moment, or the mood, or even just the proximity of a warm body.

“Yes?” Jonny doesn’t seem to get why Patrick is pushing. “It was good, I was into it. You were there.”

“That doesn’t always mean anything,” Patrick points out, because it doesn’t.

“Were you not into it?” Jonny asks, somewhere between curious and challenging.

“But I like guys,” Patrick reminds him. “It’s different.”

Jonny shrugs like he doesn’t think it is, and takes another bite of his breakfast.

“Are you into me now?” Patrick demands. For the life of him, he couldn’t say why this has become a sticking point, but he needs to know what’s going on here.

Never has Patrick seen Jonny look so skeptical as he eyes him up and down. Patrick fights the urge to fidget, wonders for half a second if Jonny’s taking him seriously or just trying to make him squirm.

“You’re not horrible,” Jonny allows eventually, but Patrick can see the red creeping up his neck.

It takes every ounce of maturity Patrick possesses not to fistpump. It’s certainly not a ringing endorsement, but Patrick will take what he can get at this point. He kind of wants to text Oshie back with smug emojis, because USA sticking together or not, the guy will never not bring out his competitive side, but he’s not entirely sure he can be smug about this, yet. “So am I your exception, or what?” he wants to know.

Jonny goes back to his mush. “Dunno. Never really thought about it.”

“You never really thought about whether I was an exception? Or you never really thought about me at all?”

“Both. Either.” Jonny looks up and frowns at Patrick. “I told you I hadn’t thought about guys like that. If I had, I would have told you.”

“Even if it was me?” Patrick asks, eyebrows going up.

Jonny rolls his eyes. “I could have told you I’d been interested in guys without telling you it was you. I haven’t been pining, Kaner.”

Patrick makes a face. “I didn’t think you were pining, asshole.” He really didn’t, it just. It might have been nice if Jonny had thought about it before, even in passing. Patrick certainly hasn’t been pining, but he’s definitely thought about it.

“Okay then.” Jonny turns back to his breakfast with a certain finality.

Patrick huffs, but lets it drop. There isn’t much point to prodding Jonny anymore, he clearly doesn’t care enough to even make it worth chirping him over the fact that he was once impaired enough to make out with Oshie, just pissed that Oshie might have thought he wasn’t any good at it. Typical.

By the time Patrick is done with his messages – he didn’t bother to answer Oshie, but did get caught up in a conversation with all three of his sisters, and their demands for wedding details, as if he has any details to give them – Jonny’s done with his fake food, but on to a second cup of coffee, and completely engrossed in his own phone.

“We’re going to have to talk about the wedding at some point,” Patrick muses aloud, getting up to put his dishes in the sink and pour more coffee.

“I told my mom we’d talk tonight,” Jonny responds, not bothering to look up.

“Great,” Patrick manages not to grumble. “I’ll see if my mom can talk around the same time. We can conference, or tag team, or something.”

“Great,” Jonny echoes, clearly distracted.

Patrick shakes his head, and heads back to his room to get dressed for the day.

“Oh, and Patrick?”

Patrick turns back at the doorway as Jonny looks up to make eye contact across the room.

“You look good in my clothes,” Jonny gives him a little smirk, then turns his attention back to his phone, completely ignoring the way Patrick stands there stupidly, completely unsure if Jonny’s trolling him in retaliation for the Tyler thing or the Oshie thing, or actually serious.

+

Living with Jonny doesn’t turn out to be all that different from living alone and just spending most of his time in Jonny’s presence. It doesn’t take long for them to realize they were mostly living together during the season anyway, not to mention any time during the offseason when they were both in Chicago, just back and forth between their places instead of firmly entrenched in one. A surprising amount of Patrick’s stuff was already at Jonny’s, and not just in what had been the biggest guest room and is now Patrick’s room. They even have to make a run at one point to Patrick’s place to get a couple of things of Jonny’s. Mostly, though, it’s just comfortable.

Except for the way Jonny is now most definitely being weird. He keeps putting himself in Patrick’s space, or making comments about Patrick’s clothes or workout routine. And none of it is stuff he hasn’t been doing for years, so Patrick can’t really call him on it, but he’s doing it now _with purpose_. Patrick just doesn’t quite know what the purpose is. That combined with now being Officially Out, plus the rush of planning a wedding Patrick wishes they could skip, and gearing up to see everyone at the Convention, well. It’s a lot.

By the time the Convention rolls around, Patrick feels like his head is one spin away from completely flying off. His mother and Jonny’s aren’t too bad – they’ve taken both the short notice for the wedding and the requests for something low-key in stride. They’ve been almost _too_ calm about the whole thing, and Patrick isn’t about to cause waves by bringing it up, but he has the sneaking suspicion that they’ve talked about this before. Jonny hasn’t said anything about his family’s reactions to the news other than “They were cool, don’t worry, they still love you,” and what Patrick’s seen so far in group Skype sessions seems to confirm that, but he’s still curious. Jonny did admit that David gave him shit for it, but only because it was Patrick specifically, not because he was a dude. Patrick wishes _his_ family had been so blasé when he came out to them. They’re okay now, but there had definitely been plenty of awkwardness – and some downright uncomfortable moments – those first few years.

Patrick’s sisters are a little more over-the-top than their mother and Andrée. Patrick’s mostly happy to indulge them, and has promised they can wear whatever they want for the wedding, but if he gets one more text or email about colors or heel height, he might throw something. He’s also decidedly _not_ thrilled with the number of requests he’s gotten for pictures of Jonny without a shirt. He may have to have words with his parents about that.

None of the family chaos comes close to what they’re getting in the media, or even from other players. Within 48 hours of the pictures going public and the official announcement being released, it’s like every single NHL player decided to weigh in not just in private, but all over the internet and to every journalist available. It’s all been surprisingly positive – at least everything coming from the players and the NHL in general has been, Patrick is trying to avoid everything else, and has been mostly successful – but Patrick really has no idea what most of them are talking about.

“What does ‘they were practically married already’ even _mean_?” Patrick demands in the car on the way to opening night of the Convention.

Jonny shrugs, but doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “It’s not like that’s new,” he points out. “Dunc and Seabs talk about _themselves_ being married. I think they’re all just playing into that.” He shrugs again. “It’s just a little more literal, now, for us.”

“Do they _all_ have to bring it up, though?” Patrick wants to know, because this is ridiculous. Almost every single person they’ve ever played with has thrown out some variation on the ‘already married’ theme, and while Patrick gets that they’re trying to be supportive and also turn it into something that’s not a big deal, it’s a little excessive.

“They haven’t _all_ brought it up.” Jonny rolls his eyes. “Stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” Patrick lies. “How would you know anyway? You’re being all Responsible Driver and shit.”

Jonny flicks a look at Patrick out of the corner of his eye, then looks back at the road, very obviously trying to fight down a smirk. “The whole point of this is so I can play,” he reminds Patrick. “It would be monumentally stupid to get in a wreck that kept us both off the ice.”

Patrick snorts, but doesn’t refute it. It’s not like he ever wants Jonny to be irresponsible behind the wheel. One heart attack on that front is more than enough for an entire lifetime. “Ovechkin saying we will make beautiful hockey babies who will win many Stanley Cups doesn’t count,” he says, because he doesn’t even want to think about Jonny crashing his car, and he needs to get all his whining out before they’re around people they have to convince how in love they are. Not that anyone seems to need actual convincing, which is the kicker of the whole thing.

“He’s not wrong,” Jonny replies placidly, and Patrick is still baffled by how calmly Jonny is taking this whole thing, sometimes even seems to be enjoying it, though it’s possible he’s mostly enjoying Patrick’s outrage over some of the more invasive questions they’ve been asked.

Patrick is pretty sure _he’s_ supposed to be the calm one, but if he never has to listen to his baby sisters talk about Jonny’s ass again, it will be too soon. The more pointedly inappropriate questions and insinuations from the guys mostly make him think too much, which feels a little awkward when he’s sleeping down the hall from Jonny. He’s been tempted to make something up, just to shut some of the guys up. He’s well aware they don’t _actually_ want details, and it would serve them right, but that way lies vivid fantasies and uncomfortably cold showers, and Patrick may be a hockey player, but he’s not a masochist.

“We’d have the best hockey babies,” Jonny continues, and Patrick can actually _picture it_ , which is insane, because they can’t actually have babies, hockey playing or otherwise, and even if they _could_ , they’re missing a key step in the baby-making process, and now Patrick’s thinking about it _again_. “But I didn’t even mean Ovechkin. Sid just wished us luck, and Richie, and Steeger. Darls asked if we were registering.”

“And Shawzer started threatening dire things to anyone who messes with us. I know.” Patrick is still not pouting. “It’s just most of them, and it’s stupid.”

“If it makes it more believable, that’s good, isn’t it?” Jonny asks.

He’s got a point. It still sits weirdly, like half of the seemingly innocuous things Jonny’s done the past week and a half, like maybe Patrick’s missing something.

“I guess,” Patrick mutters, and is saved from having to give more of an answer by their arrival, and the need to get out of the car, and run the gauntlet of everyone already there.

It’s a shitshow. Patrick isn’t particularly surprised. When he was planning on going public on his own, there had been a bit of chirping from the guys who’d known already, but mostly everyone had just made a point of letting him know they had his back, and trying to pretend they weren’t walking on eggshells. The addition of getting married to Jonny somehow seems to have flipped that. Not that Patrick has any doubt about his teammates’ support, but now that Jonny’s in the picture, they seem to feel the best way to show that support is by doing everything they can to get under Jonny’s skin. Jonny’s always been an easy target – generally easy to rile up, easy to get a fun reaction out of – but he’s taking the chirping as calmly as he’s been taking everything else since Patrick flew halfway across the country at ass o’clock in the morning and found him passed out on his couch. It’s like he used up all of his freak-outs on the one big one, and is now some kind of Zen master. Which is just making the guys try harder, and they’ve collectively decided the best way to get their illustrious captain to turn red and start shouting is by using Patrick. Patrick is not amused.

Schmaltzy grabbing his ass is the last straw. Patrick pointedly removes the offending appendage, and goes to put Jonny between himself and everyone else, figuring at least Jonny isn’t going to try to grope him.

“Are you hiding?” Jonny asks him, looking somewhere between amused and bewildered.

“I’m not going to jail just because these idiots want to get a rise out of _you_ ,” Patrick snaps, and shifts so Jonny’s bulk is more effectively between him and their now-cackling teammates.

Jonny raises one eyebrow. “Schmaltzy’s legal.”

“They’re all _technically_ legal,” Patrick agrees. “But murder is not.”

Jonny laughs at that, then tugs Patrick against him, one arm around his neck and the other reaching to ruffle his hair.

Patrick tries to duck away, but only succeeds in wedging himself more firmly between Jonny and the wall. “You’re a terrible husband,” Patrick tells him, giving up.

Jonny laughs again, still half holding Patrick against the wall. “Not your husband, yet,” he reminds him, making Patrick roll his eyes.

“Leave room for Jesus!” Sharpy shouts cheerily from somewhere behind Jonny, prompting a chorus of whistles and cat-calling.

Jonny glances over his shoulder, then back at Patrick, and raises one eyebrow in a very pointed and meaningful way that is completely lost on Patrick.

“Use your words,” Patrick tells him, or tries to, because he’s only halfway through when Jonny’s mouth is on his, one hand back in his hair, guiding him up and into a more comfortable angle, his other hand sliding firmly around Patrick’s waist to pull him close even as he presses him back against the wall.

It’s as easy to fall into it the second time as it was the first. Jonny is just too damn good at this. And now Patrick’s thinking about Oshie’s texts, and if he can maybe put that advice to good use, but this isn’t the time, and he doesn’t want to be thinking about _Oshie_ when he has Jonny’s face attached to his in the best way possible.

Everything goes a little fuzzy, and a lot warm, and Patrick scrapes his teeth over Jonny’s bottom lip, feels him shudder just the tiniest bit, thinks about doing it again, harder. He can feel Jonny’s fingers under his jersey, sliding hot across his lower back, even over his shirt, moving like they want to get underneath, and for a moment Patrick can’t even think why they shouldn’t. He might make some kind of noise against Jonny’s mouth, Jonny definitely makes a soft sound in response, vibrating against Patrick’s tongue and teeth.

Then Jonny jerks and pulls back abruptly, leaving Patrick feeling cold all down his front where Jonny had been pressed against him.

“The fuck?” Jonny’s demanding, half-turned towards the rest of the group, most of whom are laughing so hard Patrick would fear for their continued intake of oxygen if he weren’t quite so pissed at being interrupted.

“Get a room,” Seabs advises. He’s bracing Duncs as the other man stands on one foot to put his shoe on, and Patrick realizes he’d thrown it at Jonny to get his attention. “We’re all very happy for you that you’ve finally managed to put a ring on it, and it’s clear you’ve both got some impulse control issues now you’re not hiding anymore, but this is a family event. We have to go out for the ceremony in a minute, and neither of you is exactly fit for public consumption right now.”

Sharpy is looking like it’s December come early, Bur is doubled over and wheezing next to him. Several of the younger guys have collapsed against each other, and even Tony O and Savvy, who must have wandered in sometime in the last few minutes, look like this is the best thing they’ve seen in decades.

Jonny’s neck and ears have gone spectacularly red, and he looks half a breath away from undeserved-penalty-levels of yelling.

Patrick tugs Jonny back around to face him, puts his hands on either side of his neck to feel the heat – and it’s maybe not something he’d admit even to himself, but he’s always wanted to know what that felt like – and gives him the sternest look he can muster. It’s probably not very impressive, he’s still feeling a little weak at the knees and a little toasty under the collar, and the laughter around them is making him want to grin, but he gives it a shot anyway. “Breathe,” he tells Jonny, takes a deep breath and lets it out as an example, gives himself a pat on the back when Jonny follows suit. “All their crap and this is what makes you lose it?” he asks, quiet enough for just Jonny’s ears.

Jonny tilts forward, rests his forehead against Patrick’s. “I was enjoying myself,” he says, voice just as low. Patrick shivers. It sounds like a promise.

“Glad you two are finally making honest men of each other,” Bobby Hull’s jovial tone breaks through the moment, and Jonny and Patrick pull apart again. Bobby’s standing a few feet away, grin as big as Sharpy’s.

Patrick glances around, realizes the room is full enough that they’re probably going to be starting any minute.

A look at Jonny confirms he’s realized the same thing. Jonny huffs out a breath when he catches Patrick watching him, but he seems more resigned than irritated now. “Later,” he says, and Patrick nods, tugs his sweater back into place and tries to fix his hair before anyone comes to tell them they’re ready to go.

+

“Later” doesn’t come for another two days.

They’re both exhausted by the end of the Convention, sacked out on the couch on Sunday afternoon, some program on fishing on in the background. It’s possible Jonny’s paying attention, since he was the one who put it on, but Patrick wouldn’t put money on it.

Patrick himself is comfortably dozing, and only half-notices Jonny getting up, but he startles fully awake when Jonny returns some indeterminate amount of time later and flops down mostly on top of him. “The fuck?” he grumbles, because Jonny’s heavy. “Your ass weighs a ton, get off.”

“I thought you liked my ass.” Jonny’s smirking down at him, and it shouldn’t be nearly as attractive as it is.

“Modest, aren’t you?” Patrick snarks, because Jonny really is heavy, then, “Are we doing this?”

“Doing what?” Jonny asks, because he’s a dick.

Patrick glares at him. “I will knock you off this couch,” he warns.

Somehow, Jonny seems to get heavier. “I’d like to see you try,” he retorts, but his voice has gone a little lower, and his eyes seem impossibly darker, and Patrick doesn’t really want to kick him onto the floor unless he’s going, too.

“Right then,” Patrick says, only a little nonsensically, and instead of shoving Jonny away, he tugs him down, gets his mouth on him like he’s wanted to all weekend.

Jonny goes with it easy as breathing, and Patrick would comment on how Jonny’s never been this easy about anything in his life, but he’d have to stop kissing him to do it, and that’s not something he’s willing to do until he has to.

It’s slow and comfortable, like they’ve been doing this for years instead of twice in the last couple weeks, but with the kind of heat that Patrick usually associates with lost buttons and accidental bruises from banging into furniture. Even Jonny’s weight on top of him feels comfortable now, safe instead of constricting.

“I’ve been thinking about this since that first night, in that club,” Jonny breathes, a confession against Patrick’s lips. “I’d never even considered it before, and then it’s like you just. Fit.”

“Fuck,” Patrick agrees. “You have no idea.” Except Jonny does, he does _now_ , and maybe Patrick didn’t before, either, like they’ve both been on the same page all along, and they’ve just turned to a new chapter together.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Jonny kisses the words into Patrick’s skin, along his jawline and across his throat.

Patrick tips his head back to give Jonny better access, slides his hands across Jonny’s back down to the hem of his shirt, rucking it up to get underneath. “I want –” his voice cuts out with the scrape of Jonny’s teeth, and he tugs harder on Jonny’s shirt. “Off,” he manages, and Jonny detaches himself to pull the fabric up and over his head.

“You, too,” Jonny’s voice is husky, a little breathless, and he helps Patrick sit up enough to tug his own shirt off, and then tumbles him back down to the cushions, bracing himself on one forearm next to Patrick’s head.

Skin to skin makes everything better, hotter, a little more desperate. Patrick can’t help the noise he makes in the back of his throat at the contact, swallows Jonny’s response. He gets one hand in Jonny’s hair to hold him where he wants him, skates the other down the expanse of Jonny’s back, velvety smooth under his fingertips. He doesn’t even hesitate when he hits Jonny’s waistband, just slips right under to get his hand on Jonny’s bare ass and yank him down, grinding up against him, and, “Oh God,” he groans, can’t even make out his own words as they get lost in Jonny’s mouth.

Jonny rumbles something in reply, drags his free hand up Patrick’s arm, down his side, clutches for a moment at his hip, then grips his thigh, hitching it up so he can press even closer.

Patrick curses, the sounds garbled, as Jonny shifts enough to line them up, the hard line of his dick hot against Patrick’s, even through their sweats. Patrick digs his fingers into Jonny’s ass, moving him the way he wants him, draws his other knee up so Jonny’s cradled between his thighs, their hips picking up a matching rhythm in a dirty grind.

The rough drag is almost too much, a sharp contrast to the slip of their skin every time they slide together, but fuck is it good. It’s like the last couple weeks have all been some elaborate dance of foreplay, and it’s all coming to a head now, and all Patrick wants is _closer_ , _more_. He thinks the words might come out of his mouth, but he can’t be sure.

They’re not even kissing anymore, just panting against each other as they both get closer.

Patrick can feel the curl of heat building up low in his stomach, clenches the hand he’s got in Jonny’s hair, fingertips of the other hand pressing hard enough into Jonny’s skin they might bruise. The part of Patrick that’s distantly aware of that sort of thing thrills at the idea, of leaving marks like that.

Jonny’s mouth glances off Patrick’s as they move, air hot in the space between them, his fingers skidding along Patrick’s thigh as he holds it against him. “You’re so fucking amazing,” Jonny gasps out, almost like he doesn’t think Patrick can hear him, but that. That’s pretty much it.

“Jonny,” it comes out as a whine against Jonny’s lips, and Patrick lets go, comes hard, Jonny’s voice in his ears.

Jonny’s eyes go wide, and he’s kissing Patrick again, says something that might be _amazing_ a second time, something else that might be _fuck_ , might be _Patrick_ , and then he’s shaking apart in Patrick’s arms, and it’s possibly the hottest thing Patrick has ever seen.

It’s several long minutes before either of them move, Jonny collapsed on Patrick’s chest, Patrick boneless underneath him, one hand still tucked down the back of Jonny’s pants. Eventually, Patrick starts carding his fingers through Jonny’s hair, rubbing gently against his scalp where he pulled. He keeps his other hand where it is. Jonny’s ass really is a thing of beauty.

Jonny hums contentedly and Patrick can feel it vibrate all the way down his spine. It’s pretty great.

They stay like that for another several minutes, until the mess between them starts to get uncomfortable, and their skin starts sticking as their sweat cools.

Patrick pulls his hand free of Jonny’s pants to poke him in the side. “Time to move.”

Jonny tries to squirm away, which is less than comfortable. “Way to ruin the afterglow.”

“Afterglow off of my kidneys,” Patrick retorts, pokes him again.

“You’re so romantic,” Jonny tells him, deadpan, doesn’t move.

Patrick huffs. “Now you want romance.”

“We’ll work on it,” Jonny promises, and Patrick isn’t quite sure if he’s being serious or making fun. Quite possibly it’s a little of both.

“We should work on getting you naked,” Patrick suggests. “Also, somewhere that will let me breathe properly.”

Jonny ignores the complaint, because of course he does. “You could have gotten me naked before. I kind of figured that’s where this was headed. I could have saved the hassle of getting a condom.”

“Oh?” Patrick raises an eyebrow, though it’s probably lost on Jonny at this angle.

“Where’d you think I’d gone?”

Patrick shrugs as much as he can. “Didn’t think about it. I was pretty much asleep when you jumped on me.”

“You didn’t seem to mind it a couple minutes ago,” Jonny points out with a laugh. “You know, when you were busy not getting me naked.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “It was working out pretty well for me a couple minutes ago. Now you’re heavy again.”

Jonny snorts, but peels himself away to roll to his feet. Once standing, he offers Patrick a hand. “Want to go use that condom?”

It’s Patrick’s turn to laugh. “I want a shower and a nap, first,” he says, but grabs Jonny’s hand and lets him haul him to his feet, keeps going until he’s pressed right up against his chest. “Then you’re on,” he adds, low, and kisses Jonny hard on the mouth before pulling away and tugging him in the direction of Jonny’s bedroom. Showering together sounds like a good way to get Jonny naked in a hurry, even if he’s not quite up for round two just yet.

+

The next several weeks pass in a bit of a blur. Patrick and Jonny try to stay out of the wedding planning as much as possible, but Patrick, at least, keeps getting roped into various planning sessions and he’s not _entirely_ opposed. Some of it is almost fun, though he’s not about to tell his mother or sisters about the tuxedo fitting he and Jonny went to, or how tempted he’d been to peel Jonny out of his tux right there in the dressing room. Or how close they’d come to having to buy that one matching set they’d tried. It’s possible shoving your betrothed against the wall of a public fitting room and attempting to climb him like a tree is not appropriate behavior, but Patrick defies anyone who has ever seen Jonny in a tux to not want to do the same. And if Patrick maybe had to hang on to the ends of Jonny’s undone bowtie a little too tightly to stay upright when Jonny had cupped his face and pulled him in for a last kiss before they made themselves stop, well, that’s nobody’s business but theirs.

With preseason rapidly approaching, they’ve kicked their training into overdrive, and have to fit everything else around sessions. Patrick’s sisters fly in one weekend to go dress-shopping – Jonny tries to abandon Patrick to it, which just prompts Patrick to sic all three girls on him and feel no guilt at all over it – and David comes in another, ostensibly for a bachelor party, but really just to spend two days on the couch playing video games with a bunch of the guys.

It’s the morning after David leaves that Patrick realizes it’s possible he and Jonny are already married. More or less. It’s not triggered by anything in particular. He’s just standing in the kitchen, halfway through a cup of coffee, and he just thinks, huh. He’s wearing Jonny’s UND shirt again, and a pair of sweats that are probably also Jonny’s, given the way they drag over Patrick’s feet and hang off of his hips. He pulled himself out of Jonny’s bed this morning the same way he has every morning since the end of the Convention, and didn’t even think of it as Jonny’s bed. It hasn’t been _Jonny_ ’s bed for a while. They’d taken a cheat night after David left to go out for a nice dinner to celebrate having a guest-free apartment again, and they didn’t call it a date, but if Patrick thinks about it, it probably was one. If he thinks about it, _most_ of the dinners they’ve gone for lately have been dates, and lunches, and maybe not just the recent ones, either, though it wasn’t until recently that they started playing semi-competitive footsie under the table and occasionally kissing over it. Neither of them is really all that into PDAs, but sometimes Patrick just needs to get his mouth on Jonny’s, and Jonny seems to feel the same. It’s not something Patrick ever remembers wanting before – spank bank aside – but it’s like a switch got flicked, and now it’s all the time. The fact that Jonny is a phenomenal kisser might have something to do with that, but it’s not even just the kissing, or sex in general. It’s all of it. Everything with them is just _comfortable_. Not convenient or easy, exactly, they still know how to get under each others’ skin with remarkable ease, but, like Jonny said that first night they slept together, they _fit_.

“Well, shit,” is what this all comes out of Patrick’s mouth as.

Jonny gives him a bleary look over the rim of his own coffee cup. “What did you do?” he asks, because he has no faith.

“We’re already married,” Patrick tells him, because that’s the crux of the matter. “Everyone was fucking right.”

“What.”

“I mean,” Patrick waves his free hand around a little, trying to encompass everything, “we’ve kind of been married for years? Platonically. And now well,” he makes another hand gesture, which makes Jonny snort, “so, well. Less platonically married.”

Jonny blinks at him, then looks down at his coffee like it’s betrayed him. “It’s too early for this.”

Patrick huffs. “Don’t you love me?” he demands.

That gets Jonny’s attention, or as much of it as he has before fully caffeinating. “The fuck?”

“I love you,” Patrick tells him, “have since forever. You’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend, too,” Jonny says carefully, like he’s not quite sure he’s not about to fall off a cliff. “And yeah, I love you.”

“Well, good, because I think I’m _in_ love with you, too,” Patrick declares. “Or, at least, getting there. It seems like a sure thing.” He feels pretty confident about this, now that he’s turning it over in his mind, and saying it out loud just solidifies it, makes something in his gut settle.

Jonny looks a little like he wants to bang his head on the table, which somehow makes Patrick feel even more right about this.

“It is way too early for this shit,” Jonny mumbles, mostly like he’s saying it to himself, but loudly enough that he can be sure Patrick won’t miss it.

Patrick crosses the kitchen and puts his mug down next to Jonny’s, yanks Jonny to his feet, and kisses him soundly.

“I might be a little in love with you, too,” Jonny admits when they part. He’s looking a little more awake now, curling his hands around Patrick’s waist and pulling him closer.

“Good,” Patrick says firmly, plants another quick kiss on Jonny’s lips. “So we’re doing this for real? Us? Getting married?”

Jonny’s fingers slide up under Patrick’s shirt, pet at the skin at the small of his back. “Yeah, I guess we are. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Patrick doesn’t try to fight the smile he can feel spreading across his face. “I think it’s more than okay. I think it’s pretty great.”

Jonny pulls one hand free to touch a fingertip lightly to Patrick’s face, right where Patrick knows he has a dimple. “Yeah,” he says, soft. “Me, too.” And then he’s kissing Patrick again, and that’s pretty great, too.

+

High overhead, the jumbotron is showing a montage of Patrick and Jonny playing together, passing, scoring, jumping on each other in celebration, lifting the Cup. There are clips from all the dumb interviews and BHTV spots they’ve done together over the years, one from their appearance on Ellen the week before – Patrick’s mom might have been happier about that than she was about them getting married – and finally a series of pictures from their wedding two days earlier. There’s a ridiculous photo of Patrick draping an American flag around Jonny’s shoulders while Jonny rolls his eyes – never let it be said that management lacks a sense of humor – but there’s also one of them exchanging rings, and one from their first dance, both a little rumpled and looking at each other like absolute idiots.

Down in the tunnel, waiting to skate out on the ice for Opening Night at the UC, Patrick is most definitely not tearing up. He knows most of what people think their relationship has been is bullshit, but it’s also not. Even if they weren’t _together_ , that’s all still them, and it all built up to what they have now.

A heavy arm drops over Patrick’s shoulders and Jonny tugs him in, knocks their helmets together. “You were so hot,” he breathes against Patrick’s ear. “I almost didn’t make it through the ceremony.”

Patrick laughs. “You made that pretty clear when you dragged me off afterwards,” he reminds him. “We were late for the reception.”

Jonny chuckles softly. “No regrets,” he says, and Patrick gets the feeling he doesn’t just mean about the reception.

They can hear Pat making the introductions, and shuffle forward.

“Ready for this?” Patrick asks.

Jonny grins wolfishly at him, teeth showing even in the half light of the darkened arena. “First to score gets a blowjob in the shower after,” he says, half dare, half promise.

“You’re on,” Patrick grins back, and grabs Jonny’s gloved hand awkwardly with his own as they skate out onto the ice to the roar of the crowd.

**END**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art inspired by "I'll Be Your Detonator"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16909179) by [winter_sergeant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_sergeant/pseuds/winter_sergeant)




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